Watching the Lights Go Down
by Iced Blood
Summary: For years, the Kaiba family consisted of two people; two orphaned brothers, trying their best to survive in a world turned every which way by magic. However, Seto Kaiba is about to learn that there are other, more potent forces ready to sneak in, while the magic distracts and dissuades. He's handled threats, and stress, and anguish. But what about romance?
1. Chores

_**Hail and well met, weary travelers! They call me Iced Blood.**_

 _ **Welcome to the madhouse.**_

 _ **Something of note before this one begins: when the subject at hand is one Seto Goddamn Kaiba (that's his middle name; don't even try to convinced me otherwise), it's very difficult for me to figure out romantic prospects. There are a grand number of factors involved when it comes to why, but chief among them is the simple fact that he's so slow to trust.**_

 _ **Who, I wondered, would be able to put up with him? Who, I wondered, would he let in? Who, I wondered, would he open up to?**_

 _ **And on the subject of your standard, storybook romance, there was only one real candidate for me. Not to say that anything involving any member of the Kaiba family would be wholly "standard" in any sense of the word, but this is as close as I have been able to get.**_

 _ **This story is (1) my attempt to write one of those 100 Prompt Challenge things floating around the internet, (2) an attempt to write a "standard" Kaiba romance, and (3) an experiment in meshing together every version of the Yu-Gi-Oh! canon that I've created over the years.**_

 _ **This is also something of a test run, to get used to a few new character dynamics before I get to it in another story.**_

 _ **That story will explore the origins of Seto's foray into romantic relationships.**_

 _ **This story will explore what happens once it's already been built.**_

* * *

 **.**

* * *

"Seto, this is _not_ how today was supposed to go."

Seto Kaiba was not a man known for adapting to social norms. In fact, he was best known for bucking them on principle. This, perhaps, best explained why he turned his head and glanced over his shoulder at the woman still pouting in his bed and offered nothing but a smirk in response.

Kisara groaned, tossed herself into a sitting position, and pushed an alabaster waterfall out of her face.

"We were supposed to try to _sleep in_ ," she said. "And then Mokuba was supposed to come barreling into the room at, like, six in the morning anyway. And he's so excited that he jumps on the bed, and you start cursing and throwing things until you see him, and then you get all flustered and embarrassed because we're not supposed to use bad language around the baby, and . . ." She gesticulated randomly.

"You seem to have forgotten a critical point in this calculation," Seto muttered, sifting through his dresser. "There hasn't been a single morning where Mokuba has been awake before me . . . in seven years."

Kisara flopped back down and threw the covers back over herself. "Here's what _you_ should do. You should stop getting ready. So we can go back to sleep, and let things progress _properly_. That's how vacations work."

"That sounds excellent, except for the part where it's not going to happen."

Seto watched with idle amusement as the other half of his soul flailed around underneath his sheets before finally _throwing_ herself into a vertical position. Kisara stood upright on Seto's bed, wearing nothing but shorts and a t-shirt that was about four sizes too big, and yet . . . something about her bearing reminded Seto of nothing less than a queen.

She wrapped Seto's quilt around her shoulders like a royal cloak, as if she'd read his mind. "I hereby decree . . . in the name of all that should be held sacred . . . that time no longer exists unless the sun is up."

She flopped back down, curled up in the fetal position, and went back to sleep.

"The sun is in the same position it's always been," Seto muttered, lifting up a pair of hiking boots and examining them. "And since time is a purely human construct, you can dismiss its existence all you want. The constant that time _represents_ won't stop just because you demand it."

". . . I'm _sleeping_ , Seto."

"Of course. How foolish of me."

A soft knock came at the door. " _Niisama_? _Are you up_?"

"Come in, Mokuba," Seto said.

The young Kaiba slipped into the room. He was still in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. Before he could speak, Kisara popped her head up and stared at him. He blinked. "Um . . . hi?"

The young woman's glare could have frozen the sun. "Do something cute," she hissed.

Mokuba tilted his head. "Wha?"

"She's delirious," Seto said. "What is it, kiddo?"

"Um . . . you might wanna come out here. I think Noa broke the stove again."

Seto closed his eyes. "Oh, for _fuck's_ sake."

Mokuba shrugged. Then he turned back to Kisara, dropped to one knee, and lowered his head. "By your leave, Your Highness."

Kisara's entire _essence_ lit up, and she extricated herself from the bedcovers to put a hand on the boy's head. She sneered at Seto. "See? _Mokuba_ knows how to follow instructions."

She put an arm around the boy's shoulders and left the room.

Seto stared at the door as it closed.

". . . When was I given _instructions_?"


	2. Happy

_**This story is certainly gaining a bit more traction than its companion piece, which I suppose I expected. Blueshipping has some validity in canon, after all, whereas Slumbershipping has . . . well, absolutely none.**_

 _ **I feel I should note, though, that these stories ARE connected. I'm using these one-shot scenes to gain an understanding on how these relationships would work, so expect references to both IN both.**_

 _ **Nonetheless, this story's focus is Seto and Kisara. So that's who we're visiting today.**_

* * *

 **.**

* * *

The eldest of the (now) three Kaiba siblings didn't like to think of himself as _impatient_ , per se, so much as selective about what he allowed to take up his time. To wit: he did _not_ like to spend valuable time fixing something that he shouldn't have to fix. Like his own . . . _fucking_ oven.

"Just . . . go pack," Seto snapped; it wasn't enough to just pinch the bridge of his nose, or rub his temple. He ended up rubbing his entire face, doing his level best to stay calm because that was what the various therapists in his employ—for the _others_ working at the Kaiba Corporation, _not_ for himself, thank you very much—kept telling him to be. Calm. Cool. Collected. Don't let the _little things_ take up residence in your thoughts, Kaiba-shachou. You have enough to be getting on with.

These therapists had yet to understand just what it meant to live with Noa Kaiba.

Seto barely had time to roll up his sleeves, kneel down in front of the offending appliance—which was still smoking—and _start_ taking inventory of what his adoptive sibling-turned-unruly-pet _might have done_ when Noa came jaunting back into the room with a grin on his face. "Done!"

Seto stared at the young man who damn near shared his face. ". . . You expect me to believe that you've finished packing in two minutes."

Noa tilted his head. "Did most of it last night. We've got sleeping bags, tents, cutlery, dishes, that flimsy little propane oven thing . . . ooh! Trail mix!" And he skipped over the kitchen to invade the pantry. "Ah- _ha_! _There_ you are, you tricky little . . . !"

Sometimes, Seto tried to remember what his life had been like _before_ he'd found out that the man who'd given him his name had once had a living, breathing, blood relative. Sometimes he tried to remember the little boy that blood relative had been. With his crisp white jacket and shorts, and his loafers, and his maniac's grin. Mokuba had always felt a certain kinship with Noa, even _before_ his loyalties had been tested, and Seto had a running theory that _that_ had more than a little to do with why he, himself, had so many problems with the last scion of the Old Kaiba Name.

It wasn't so much that Seto doubted Noa's loyalty. It was a simple lack of understanding.

Who _was_ this boy? How could he change faces so often? How could he be—all at once—a sociopath, a raging lunatic, an excitable little puppy? Brother, best friend, crazy uncle, prodigal son?

. . . Doting boyfriend?

Seto eyed Ryou Bakura, standing in the doorway, from his vantage point on the floor. "Feel free to rein him in at _any_ time," Seto muttered, and then very nearly climbed _into_ the oven. His voice echoed when he spoke next: "I won't be offended at all."

Seto didn't see Ryou smile, but he didn't have to.

"Say what you want about his . . . methods, Mister Kaiba," Ryou said, with something like laughter in his voice, "but he's happy. That must count for something."

Seto wondered about that. Happy? Noa Kaiba . . . happy?

It seemed farfetched to him.

"Go track down Mokuba's boots," Seto snapped at Noa as he danced around the room, gathering so many different items that it looked like he was preparing for a yard sale. "They were misplaced somewhere down the line, and you have entirely too much energy to let it go to waste." He waited a beat. " _Now_."

Noa snapped to attention, saluted. "Aye-aye, _mon capitan_!" said he.

He disappeared.

After a moment, Seto looked at Ryou. "Keep an eye on him."

Ryou bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

And with that, Seto was left alone to work. It was four-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, and the youngest CEO in the hemisphere was neck-deep in whatever science experiment his synthetic twin had thrown into the oven for breakfast. The silence should have calmed him—it usually did—but this morning it had the exact opposite effect.

Seto found himself nervous.

Eventually he stood up, decided the task of getting the kitchen back into working order fell under the purview of the kitchen staff, and found himself ascending the stairs to the second floor. He did not seek out his own bedroom. Once he was up for the day, that was it. Seto wasn't one for napping. Instead, he decided he would engage in the actions of a proper guardian, and check up on his brother.

 _After all_ , some part of him thought, _this camping trip was_ _ **his**_ _idea_. _He should be intimately involved in its preparations_.

Seto stepped up to Mokuba's bedroom door, and opened it.

There, collapsed on the bed in a heap, was his brother.

And his fiancée.

Mokuba lay snuggled up against Kisara, while Kisara had her chin resting against the top of Mokuba's head and an arm flung across his shoulders.

Both were fast asleep.

Seto closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Hopeless," he muttered under his breath as he walked away.

The smile that spread on his lips was entirely unconscious.


	3. Life

_**This story is proving interesting to me, just because it's the first time I've ever built something with this kind of constriction to it. The idea of writing based on specific prompts just appeals to me on a level that I have a hard time properly articulating.**_

 _ **I mentioned a while back that this story, and its companion, will be a combination of pretty much every version of the YGO canon that I've written. For the most part, all that means is that it's a combination of the constructs and headcanons that have made up the "Paved with Good Intentions" and "Cult of the Dragon King" universes.**_

 _ **Which is basically my excuse for involving all of my original characters and theories into one place.**_

 _ **Even if they don't technically fit together.**_

* * *

 **.**

* * *

"All right, Seto. We're gonna play a game."

Seto adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and glanced out the window on his left. "I'm afraid not," he said. "Theoretically, at least, I am expected to focus on my surroundings while driving. I'm afraid I'm not in a position to properly eviscerate you."

Kisara smirked, and she handed her fiancé a playful punch to the arm. "Not _that_ kind of game. Not a competition. A _social_ exercise."

Seto rolled his eyes. "Predicated by my ability to be _social_ at will."

"Open forum in this car, folks," Kisara said, addressing not just the Kaiba patriarch but the three children tucked into the backseat. "What . . . is the meaning of life?"

"Well, that's just bad form," Seto said. "You suggested this exercise, so you should provide an example."

Kisara hummed, screwing her face up as she thought, before finally saying: "The meaning of life is in each person's mission to find their purpose. That's why animals don't live as long. They already _know_. We think our big human brains are so _superior_ to everything else's, but really we just end up tripping over ourselves trying to attach value to whatever shiny things we can find."

"That sounds suspiciously like an attack on capitalism," Seto muttered, "which is a very dangerous prospect when you're associated so closely to a billionaire."

Kisara smirked again. "Awww . . . don't worry. You'll do something meaningful with your life _someday_ , sweetie."

"Mm," Seto grunted. "I'm sure."

"The meaning of life is ice cream," Mokuba said with conviction. "The height of human ingenuity, condensed into something wholesome and lovely, that only exists to make people happy. It's a base, and you can put anything you want on it! Sprinkles, peanut butter cups, cookies, whatever you want! And if you eat too much of it, you'll die."

Seto maintained a straight face for precisely five seconds before he started snickering.

"I think the meaning of life is just . . . life," was Rebecca Hawkins's contribution to the discussion. "Just _being_ here, and doing what we can. Live, love, learn. That's what we do. That's what we're supposed to do."

Connor Brinkley, quiet and unassuming, sitting in between his friends and looking supremely awkward, said: "I don't . . . really know. My mom says the same thing Rebecca just said, though. So I'll go with that."

"Mmmm . . . cheating, but I guess if you learned it from your mom, I can allow it," Kisara said thoughtfully. "Okay, smart guy. Your turn."

Seto's face went neutral again. He was staring at the road again.

". . . There is no meaning to life. Life simply _is_. Placing some arbitrary label on it just limits our understanding of anything. If I tell you that the meaning of life is to find your purpose, then what about a person who doesn't live long enough to find it? Or finds it, but doesn't pursue it because they don't have a choice? Is that life wasted?"

Kisara blinked. "No. Of course not."

"What if someone's purpose in life is to cure cancer? But they can't, because they're too poor to afford an education, or they live in a country with no access to proper equipment? What if they're a woman, or gay, or _young_ , or whatever other ultimately pointless prejudices get in the way of them being taken seriously? Is that life pointless?"

"No."

"The value, and meaning, of life . . . is up to each of us who have it. Our actions, our thoughts, our beliefs, have no meaning in the greater scope of the universe. Which means, ultimately, that _we_ decide, for ourselves, what is important. Because it's _that_ microcosm that matters. It's that prism, that sphere of influence, that makes a difference to humanity."

Kisara smiled quietly.

Connor and Rebecca were staring.

Seto shrugged. "That being said . . . Mokuba _does_ have a point."

Then they were all laughing.


	4. Relationship

_**If I'm going to resurrect one old series, it's only fair to resurrect its twin, right? This story, and "Letting the Cables Sleep" along with it, is first and foremost an experiment. I wanted to get some practice with … certain dynamics before I worked them into other works.**_

 _ **Inspiration is a fickle thing, and to those of you who were waiting for this for as abysmally long as you have, I have no justification. Just know that I'm coming back home to so many different stories of mine that have sat neglected, gathering dust, and this is one of them.**_

 _ **I know where this goes. I know what it will build.**_

 _ **And I intend to build it.**_

* * *

 **.**

* * *

How did one define a bond? What did it mean to _know_ someone, in that quiet way that sneaked into the room at night and whispered secrets in the dark? What was there to be done when something—someone—didn't so much enter into your life as reveal that they'd always _been_ there?

These questions, and ten thousand others, had been plaguing Seto Kaiba's mind for months now. And when he looked at the young woman sitting beside him, looking out her window like a studious photographer seeking out a new subject, Seto tried to reconcile the fact that he had answers to exactly none of them.

Seto and Kisara weren't dating. That wasn't the right word. It didn't encompass _anything_ that honestly mattered. Oh, sure, it was the word that got thrown around tabloids and TMZ shorts and YouTube videos. But this, whatever _this_ was . . . just didn't feel like kisses on street corners and picnics outside scenic buildings. It didn't feel like coffee outside Starbucks or a late-night dinner.

It felt like history.

It felt like forever.

Sometimes, when his imagination allowed itself to drift, rare as that was, he remembered places he'd never seen before. He remembered limestone slopes and statues like gods. He remembered a sun that set the sky on fire, and a throne whose corners pierced flesh.

He remembered hallways and catacombs that weren't the same . . . but _weren't_ they?

And every time, she was there.

It had taken him several months to broach the subject of these daydreams—which sometimes devolved into nightmares—and the strangest part of the whole sordid affair wasn't that she'd nodded and said she had the same visions, the same glimpses into a history past reckoning, a life past recollection yet as crystal clear as the day it had been lived.

It was the fact that he'd _believed_ her.

"Something funny?" Seto asked, noticing the upward tick of his queen's lips.

"Have you ever thought about how many people have joked about you losing your virginity to a Blue-Eyes White Dragon?" she said.

Seto blinked. It was a startlingly specific image, and one he wasn't sure he was prepared to contemplate just now. Still, he said: "I'm sure 74% of the human population with access to a television have thought about it at least once."

Kisara winked at him. "Can you imagine how they'd react if they found out they were right?"


End file.
